


go out in the world (to start over again)

by Heronfem



Series: Non-binary Bokuto [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coming Out, Coming of Age, Non-Linear Narrative, Non-binary character, Other, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:58:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: In which Bokuto is non-binary and needs a kimono for Coming of Age day, Keiji is so very in love, and life is complicated and easy all at once.





	go out in the world (to start over again)

“This is stupid,” Bokuto says, and Keiji has to bite his lip to avoid a sharp retort. But he does bite it, because he can see the little starts of tears in the corners of Bokuto's eyes, can tell that he's growing overwhelmed and upset, and he can understand why.

“It's not stupid,” he says, taking Bokuto's hand. “Let's have lunch and come back to look.”

Bokuto nods, turning to gently press his face against the side of Keiji's head, and Keiji takes a moment to compose himself. The store is a larger one, the kind of place that caters to the slightly better than low middle class. There are giggling girls everywhere looking through the racks, cooing over new kimonos and giving them curious looks. Keiji's about done with it as well, and he's aware that he's also growing upset with each slight hope that gets dashed. They're surrounded by rich fabric in so many colors and styles, but... nothing that will fit Bokuto's broad shoulders, nothing that will suit such a wide form. No furisode that will work, at least not one that they've found.

They go together to a little cafe for their lunch. Bokuto picks up yakiniku, not a surprise, with pomegranate juice for both of them, and they walk hand in hand away and over to a little park with trees and grass and a playground. They sit together on the grass, and Keiji watches as children play on the jungle gym. They're running and laughing, and his heart aches. He's never wanted kids, exactly, but he finds himself thinking about them more and more as he and Bokuto grow older. That soft, gentle innocence, even when they're being little shits.

He never got to be a child, and Bokuto's parents were absent at best, neglectful at worst.

Bokuto would be a wonderful parent. 

“If we can't find one I'll just wear a normal yukata and dress it up a little,” Bokuto says quietly, wiping his fingers off. He's been so quiet today, not dejected but truly depressed. Keiji knows they're just going to have to ride it out until the stronger medication can kick in, but it rips his heart in two watching Bokuto go through the motions while feeling everything and nothing. “It's not- it shouldn't be a big deal.”

Keiji looks over and sees, can tell the shift has taken place and takes their hand. Bokuto presses their lips together into a thin, tight line, their eyes a little shinier than usual. 

“It matters to you, so it is a big deal,” Keiji says simply. “We'll find one. Or have one made, if all else fails. If I have to, I'll make you one myself. People have been doing it for thousands of years and it's just some rectangles- I'm sure I could figure out out.”

Bokuto leans into him, resting their head on his shoulder, and Keiji squeezes their hand. 

“I love you,” Bokuto tells him, watching as the children play.

“I love you too.”

oOo

His first, horrifying thought when he finds the lipstick tube rolled under the sink in the bathroom is that Bokuto's cheating on him. He stares at it for a while- it's a lovely dark plum color, cheap but of acceptable quality, and barely used. It has an almost dignified look to it, and he thinks oddly that this is a color he'd wear if he were so inclined. Keiji holds the little lipstick in his hand like it's some sort of grenade, something that's about to go off. But Bokuto would never- would he? Keiji's been away for months now, they've barely had time to see each other. Why is there lipstick in his boyfriends bathroom? Kuroo is nigh unto celibate and too wrapped up in his program to go looking for anyone, and is dating Kenma anyway. _Why_ is this here?

Bokuto opens the bathroom door and blinks at him.

“Akaaaashi, what're you doing on the floor?”

“The light caught on something and I found this,” Keiji says, showing him.

“Oh!” Bokuto smiles at him, bending to pluck it out of his hand. “Awesome!”

Keiji stares at him, confused.

“It's for a costume,” Bokuto continues airily, opening the cabinet and setting it inside. There's a small pile of makeup there, simple foundation and a couple eye shadows that actually match the lipstick quite well, varying shades of purple and one with sparkly gold. “It must have fallen out when I was getting stuff earlier this week! Thanks for finding it!”

“Of course,” Keiji says, looking at the makeup. Something seems... off, something wrong with Bokuto's expression. But he can't place what it is, and he feels awful that he even had the split second of fear that he was replaceable. He knows better. Bokuto loves him, has loved him for years, and is no good at hiding things from him. He'd have one hell of a time hiding a whole relationship, and Keiji hates himself so much for even considering it.

They go out to dinner at a nice restaurant, Bokuto brings him back to the little apartment that's blessedly free of tall pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-cats, and Keiji falls asleep curled into Bokuto's arms while they watch 12 Angry Men in the original English since Bokuto learns better by immersion and wants to improve his professional English. When he wakes up, he finds himself wondering what's wrong with him, and gently traces the soft lines of his boyfriends face as he rests beside him. Bokuto looks so soft and so gentle beside him. 

Something is still _off_. Something is different. And Keiji doesn't know what to do about it. 

“I love you,” he tells Bokuto again when he's getting ready to leave the next morning, and Bokuto beams at him. The new medication is working well, mellowing out the jagged edges of his mood swings. Bipolar 1, the doctor had informed them when Keiji had finally dragged him to go get looked at and evaluated. It's been a ride, working things out, but Keiji feels a little less anxious knowing that Kuroo is there for the worst of the depression and mania, and that the shift won't be as bad these days. “I'm going to miss you terribly.”

“Akaaaashi, you're so sweet!” Bokuto pulls him into a lingering kiss, and Keiji clings to him helplessly. 

For all that he's always been the teams beloved baby, Bokuto is a rock on which they can always build. Keiji has built his foundation on Bokuto's rock, and never feels so safe as when he's in his arms.

oOo

Keiji had a key that allows him to come and goes as he pleases from the apartment Bokuto shares with Kuroo, as does Kenma. He uses it rarely. As the captain he's busy most days with the Spring Interhigh coming up, and his school work is intense as he prepares for exam season. He only gets to see Bokuto maybe two times in three months, but they make it work. They video chat a lot, they text constantly, and Bokuto loves surprising him with packages delivered to his house with gifts. The most recent is a magnificent pashmina scarf in forest green to match his eyes, and Keiji is wearing it as he lets himself into the apartment. No one's home, not that he's surprised. Bokuto spends a great deal of time at the library, struggling through texts by sheer brute force, and Kuroo is so trapped within the Chemistry department it's a wonder he ever comes home.

Keiji takes off his coat and scarf, hanging them on the hooks by the door, and slips off his shoes in the genkan. He sets the bag of ingredients he's picked up on the table. He's been planning on making something nice, and has everything they might need to do a nice beef pot this evening. He puts away the things that need refridgerating, sighs in exasperation at the state of the counters and does a quick tidying job, and clears the table for later. He settles on the couch to do a bit of homework, and is just getting started when his pencil breaks in his hand. 

“Again?” he mutters to the universe at large, vexed. His grip strength is powerful, and he's broken many pencils, both normal and mechanical. He checks in his bag and discovers that while he has lead, that was the last of his pencils. 

Oh well. There are always a number of them floating around Bokuto's room, and he gets up to go look for one. He pushes open the bedroom door, distracted a little by a text from his vice captain. He replies as he walks to the desk and pulls a new pencil from Bokuto's top drawer, a sturdy red one, and turns to leave. 

He freezes as he sees the bed. The pencil drops from his hand to the floor, unnoticed.

Bokuto makes his bed daily, a habit drilled into him to help make it clear to his brain that the day's begun and to combat the depression a bit, and a habit that Keiji is also picking up. The blanket is navy blue, the pillows plain white and fluffed perfectly, and dropped carelessly on the center of it is a skirt. It's got a floral pattern, ultra feminine, and Keiji stares down at is as if it were a cobra about to strike. It lays there innocently. It's long, probably long enough to go over the knee, quite modest. The pattern is pleasing to the eye, little purple and yellow pansies scattered among soft pink roses and greenery. The waistband has a tie for a bow in the back, presumably something big and fluffy.

Keiji walks to the closet and opens it. There's a single pair of simple black patent-leather heels inside, right next to Bokuto's favorite chunky boots. 

There's a skirt on his boyfriends bed. Makeup in the bathroom. Heels in the closet. 

Keiji walks to the bed and sits down hard on it, staring at the skirt. It lays there, as if it were nothing interesting at all. He picks it up, when he works up the courage. The fabric is soft and fine, with a silken slip underneath to keep it from sticking to the wearers legs. He's relatively sure the fabric is called chiffon. It moves like water in his hands, soft and flowing, and it looks like it would be the sort of thing an actress would twirl around in while being made over in a movie. 

His eyes sting as he looks at it.

 _Please, no_.

The door slams, and he jumps, looking to the clock. 6 in the evening- Bokuto is done for the day.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto calls, and Keiji's eyes burn with unshed tears. “Where are you?”

His throat is tight. He can't speak. He can hear Bokuto walking down the hall, and he gets to his feet. He feels almost numb as Bokuto steps through the door and goes perfectly still, his eyes fixing on the skirt in Keiji's hands.

“Koutarou,” Keiji says, holding out the skirt. “Please explain this.”

He's never see Bokuto look so afraid in his life, all over some panels of fabric stitched together, all over soft florals in pastel blue. Bokuto closes the door, his hands shaking, and Keiji swallows hard. He's afraid too, he's _terrified_. Keiji doesn't want this to be over, he doesn't want to think that Bokuto really would cheat on him, Bokuto has had his heart for a full three years now and the idea of losing that- _please please please no_. 

“I'm not what you think I am,” Bokuto says, and suddenly there are fat, heavy tears dripping down his face. Keiji's eyes go very, very wide, because for all his moods and struggles Bokuto actually cries very rarely. “I'm not- I'm not like everyone else. And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to turn out like this.”

“What are you talking about?” Keiji practically begs, stepping forwards. Bokuto wraps his arms around his waist, bowing his head. “Koutarou, _please_ , help me understand what's going on here.”

“I'mnotaboy.”

The words come out rushed and fast, and Keiji feels them like a bucket of water's been thrown on him. The words don't really sink in for a moment, and then they lock into his mind with a rush of clarity.

“What?” he chokes out. 

Bokuto heaves a sob, putting a hand over his mouth. “I'm- I'm no- I'm not a boy, Keiji, not all the time.”

“I don't understand,” Keiji says, because he truly doesn't. “Are... are you transgender? A girl?”

“No.” Bokuto bites his lip, hard. “I'm- sometimes I'm definitely a girl, and sometimes I'm definitely a boy, but sometimes I'm not either of them or I'm both of them at once and I'm _so sorry_ , I didn't want you to have to deal with this, I'm so sorry Keiji, I don't mean to be like this- I-I'll get rid of it, all of it, if it upsets you I'll ju-just make myself be just a boy, I'm so sorry.”

Keiji's heart breaks a little at the sheer desperation in Bokuto's voice. He walks forward and Bokuto takes an unconscious step back, pinning himself against the door. 

“Koutarou,” he says, very quietly, reaching up to gently brush the worst of the tears away. “I can't... I can't pretend that I understand right now. But this clearly is a part of you that I need to learn to love as well. How... how long...”

“Six months,” Bokuto whispers, shame on his face as he looks the other way. “It's been six months.”

Six months of Bokuto being too afraid of what Keiji would say to tell him, a full half year. Six months of fear, and doubt, and probably some self loathing. Six months of struggling alone with this, and Keiji hasn't been able to help. Keiji's been a _stressor_ , not a helper, and that horrifies him more than anything. Keiji wipes away some more tears, looking into Bokuto's face. They're of a height, now, Keiji putting on one last little bit of growth. They can look each other in the eyes now, on equal ground. 

Keiji kisses his forehead, and Bokuto lets out a broken little sob. 

“Please don't leave me,” he begs, and Keiji wraps his arms around him, tight.

“I'm not leaving you,” he promises, the skirt tight in his grip. The chiffon will wrinkle in his hands, he knows, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment. “I'm not, Koutarou, I'm not leaving you. I love you. All of you. Even the parts I still need to learn about.”

Bokuto sobs, clutching him tight and burying his face in his shoulder. Keiji cries too, silently, pressing his face against Bokuto's neck as they both tremble. It's tears of relief, and a little bit of fear, but Keiji knows he'll be able to handle whatever life throws at them.

When he's all cried out and they've migrated to the bed, Keiji asks, “When did you figure it out?”

“It was dumb,” Bokuto says, looking down at his lap. The skirt is laying over their legs, soft and unassuming. “There was this party, back in July. The theme was dressing different, so most people crossdressed. I figured I would too. I got the skirt, and the heels, and a really pretty white top and the makeup, and- and I looked at myself when I had it all on and I started crying, because something just _clicked_. I didn't go to the party, I pretended I was sick and spent the whole night thinking about it and... and yeah. I've... I've always felt like this, I just didn't know how to wrap my head around it. And now I do.”

Keiji nods, taking Bokuto's hands and twining their fingers together. He squeezes, gentle, and Bokuto squeezes back. “Is that why you like wearing hakama? Because they look like skirts?”

“I don't think so,” Bokuto says, giving him a little smile. “They're just comfy.”

“They are,” Keiji muses. He turns his head to kiss Bokuto's hair, soft and gentle. “So... how do you want me to call you?”

“I dunno. I'll have to figure it out.” Bokuto's mouth twists. “You're the first person to know.”

“Kuroo doesn't know?”

“I think he suspects,” Bokuto says, curled up tight against Keiji as they sit against the wall on the bed. “He's... he's seen me with eyeshadow on a couple times, and he's said a couple things about how he's always going to be my friend.”

“Kuroo is a good man,” Keiji says quietly, and Bokuto nods.

“He really is.”

Keiji kisses the top of Bokuto's head. “Can... can I see you? In the makeup and the skirt and such?”

“I'm not very pretty,” Bokuto says, his voice very soft.

“I don't care,” Keiji says, carding his fingers through Bokuto's hair. “I don't love you for your looks, I never have. I fell in love with you for who you are. Out of all the parts and pieces that make you, I like your heart the best.”

“Akaaaaaashi,” Bokuto whines, blushing bright. “That's really sappy.”

“ _I'm_ really sappy,” Keiji retorts, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Besides, I'm your boyfriend. I always think you're pretty, even when you drool in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“You really, really do.”

Bokuto pouts at him, and Keiji can't help kissing him again, and again, and again until Bokuto's giggling a little and pulling back, smiling shyly. 

“I have a girlfriend _and_ a boyfriend,” Keiji muses, not missing how Bokuto's eyes brighten and his smile gets a little bigger. “I suppose I have to spoil you twice as much now. Though I don't know that I could spoil you as much as you spoil me. You give me so many presents.”

“I like giving you gifts!”

“I know. I like getting them.”

Bokuto squeaks, and Keiji can't help kissing him again.

“We'll figure this out,” Keiji promises him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Bokuto's cheek. “I promise. I'm not going anywhere.”

oOo

So Keiji's boyfriend is sometimes a girlfriend or sometimes just a partner. Keiji likes that best- he likes the thought of them just being partners together. He asks that Bokuto refer to him as such, and Bokuto takes to the term with gleeful abandon.

Keiji twines their hands together as they go to a used kimono store the next day, and begin picking through the used furisodes to see if they can't find one that will fit Bokuto. Men's style yukata that fit are hard enough to find, and furisodes are going to be nigh unto impossible. But Keiji is going to pack his partner into the most beautiful one they can find, so help him, and he rifles through the fabric with increased determination. He pulls out one in deep purple, and Bokuto obediently turns to be measured against his back. It's a questionable fit, but closer than anything else they've found so far. He folds it over his arm and keeps looking. 

A tiny old woman comes up to them with a smile, dressed very traditionally and with a kind face. “Looking for anything in particular?”

“Ah, yes,” Keiji says, hoping that this isn't a bad idea. “A very large furisode.”

He can see Bokuto swallow hard. “Large enough to fit me.”

The old woman gives Bokuto a long look before nodding. “I may have one or two that would fit. Such broad shoulders and so tall, tch, that does make it difficult.” She walks away slowly, beckoning them to follow. They move through the racks to the other side of the store, where she nods at three furisode on hangers. “Let's see about those. Try those on.”

Keiji helps Bokuto slip the first on over their thin shirt, and Bokuto sighs with visible relief when it both fits their shoulders and can be closed all the way. It's a red furisode, with golden detailing and clouds, a very traditional pattern of a cart and clouds. The old woman nods approvingly. 

“Red's not the best color for you, but it does fit,” she says, pleased. “Let's see the black.”

The black fits as well, the beautiful white and red cranes a beautiful motif, and so does the last in deep midnight blue with spinning fans and an elaborate scene of the imperial court. They're all deeply traditional looking and slightly dated, but Bokuto looks thrilled and is biting their lip to keep from practically vibrating out of their skin in excitement.

“We'll take them all,” Keiji says, once they've established that the purple doesn't quite fit.

“Certainly,” the old woman says with a smile. They pick out things from the rest of the store- a somewhat simple Nagoya obi that will match all three if pressed, three different obi-age and obi-jime to mix and match as best they can, kasane-eri for under the collar, a used fur stole that's seen better days but is still soft and white, and the largest pair of lightly patterned zori Keiji's ever seen. Keiji doesn't even blink to pay for it all, and knows they've got a massive discount on top of what was already marked down. They're used, not overly expensive, and Bokuto's on the verge of relieved tears as is. The woman pauses as they gather their things, and pulls a card from a box near the desk. She hands it to Keiji, who looks down at it. It's information for a wig shop nearby. “A friend of mine makes wigs for weddings and those geisha still around. She doesn't ask questions, and she has lots of little decorative things for hair.”

Now it's Keiji's turn to be in tears, and he bows gratefully. “Thank you so very, very much.”

oOo

Bokuto explains things to Kuroo one late night a few weeks after Keiji finds out. Keiji sits in the living room, listening in while Bokuto struggles to find the words for how they feel, but Kuroo takes it all in stride. There's some crying, and a lot of hugging, and Keiji comes back into the kitchen to find them clinging to each other and Kuroo cradling Bokuto's head so very, very gently; as if they were something fragile, something to be protected. Keiji loves him a little bit for that.

Bokuto starts growing out hi- _their_ hair. It's long for a mens cut to start with, but they don't keep trimming it. They start pulling it up into a tiny ponytail, or tucking it behind their ears, or using headbands like Azumane-san does to hold it back. Most people don't believe that the silver is natural, but Keiji knows the truth. He's seen the pictures. Bokuto started going gray at the ripe age of 14, the same year their mother did, and at 20 their hair is almost completely silver. There's a few remaining spots of black, but it's nearly gone. Kuroo takes to braiding it for Bokuto in the evenings, and Keiji squashes down his jealousy since he knows how much Kuroo is struggling to find a way to help. Kuroo doesn't care about Bokuto's gender- he just cares that Bokuto's suffering while they figure it out, and Keiji knows he's upset about that.

Kuroo gets quite good at braiding.

Bokuto's hair grows fast, it always has. Soon it's down past their shoulders, enough for a low ponytail, and Keiji discovers that he's quite entranced with pretty, long haired Bokuto, who takes to wearing the tiniest amount of eyeliner at just the very edges of their eyes regularly.

Kenma smiles when he sees Keiji watching Bokuto.

“You're not subtle,” he says with a smile, and Keiji makes a faint noise. “They're very pretty.”

“Extremely,” Keiji agrees, and gets up off the couch to catch Bokuto where they're arguing with Kuroo and kiss them with no small amount of heat. Kuroo squawks in annoyance, Bokuto sighs into his mouth, and Keiji smiles against Bokuto's lips.

He graduates with little ceremony, and moves with Bokuto, Kuroo, and Kenma into a spacious and airy apartment. He picks up a job that pays enough of the bills to be worth it, plays his cards right and gets into the management track, and is comfortably installed as the manager of a small bookstore in three months. School begins, and he spends his nights comfortable in his partners bed with Bokuto dressed in soft, silken things that aren't intended to drive Keiji to absolute distraction but do. There's something so very, very alluring about Bokuto in satin and lace, and the day they come home with a garter belt and stockings Keiji just about transcends his physical form.

Bokuto refuses to wear anything feminine in nature out of the house, and no one pushes. Depending on the day, the pronouns are he, she, or they, and Keiji grows accustomed to watching their face, checking to see, and learns to tell the subtle differences just as he has with all of Bokuto's other stressors. He's so very in love, and it doesn't take long before his brain has settled down completely regarding Bokuto's gender. 

He loves his partner, tells them often, and kisses them whenever they want.

oOo

They go to the wig shop the day after they get the furisode, Bokuto holding tight to Keiji's hand as the pair of them walk in. It's a beautiful shop, with a lot of wonderful, complicated wigs on display and decorative hair ornaments in the little window. The wigmaker gasps as she sees Bokuto's hair from her little counter, eyes lighting up. “Oh, so lovely!” She comes around from the desk, eyes bright with interest. “Shiya-san said that some people might be coming by, did she send you to me?”

“Yes, that's us! I'm Bokuto Koutarou, this is Akaashi Keiji.” Bokuto smiles at her, but Keiji can see how nervous they are. The woman all but coos at them, clearly pleased. She's small and wonderfully round, with a big smile and full cheeks. Keiji immediately likes her. She reminds him of Karasuno's younger manager, bright and cheerful.

“How good of her to send you to me! Please, please, come in! I'm Hanta Shira, welcome! Oh, you're both so lovely, and what beautiful hair you have.” Hanta-san bustles them towards the back of the little shop, where there's a large mirror with lights and a great many complicated looking devices. The only one that Keiji immediately recognizes is a brush, but he thinks that the terrifying barrel-thing might be a hair dryer. He's never had any need to learn about hair styling, his own waves do whatever they want and he's accepted defeat when it comes to them. “What's the occasion?”

“I'm...” Bokuto swallows, very hard, before continuing. Seeing them so nervous about breaks Keiji's heart. “I'm wearing furisode for coming of age day. I don't know what to do with my hair. So... Maybe a wig?”

Hanta-san claps her hands, delighted. “Oh, you'll be so very statuesque! You're both so tall, what a lovely pair you'll be. Do you want to wear a wig, or do you want to use your own hair with some ornaments?”

“I... I'd really like to wear my own hair,” Bokuto tells her quietly, and she nods.

“It's so pretty, you really should! Such a wonderful color, it's so rare to see hair go silver with as young as you are. Here, stay put, I have some beautiful bira-bira kanzashi in gold tones that would look wonderful with your eyes! And your hair looks like it could be put up into a bun or twist or something different at this length, yes, we should try a few different things and see what we can do.” Hanta-san bustles away, humming to herself, and Keiji feels a knot he didn't know was there ease from his stomach. 

Bokuto looks so _happy_. He leans down, gently kissing their forehead. 

“She called me pretty,” Bokuto says, very very softly, and Keiji blinks back a couple tears at the smile on her face. 

“She did,” he agrees. “It's something I need to do more often.”

“Akaaaashi,” Bokuto drags out, smiling very wide, and Keiji kisses her once more with feeling. Bokuto chases his mouth as he pulls away, her smile easy, and Keiji is so very, very smitten.

Hanta-san comes back with two large boxes and sets them on the little counter. She opens them to reveal beautiful kanzashi in a number of styles, and Bokuto's eyes light up at the sight of them. “Let's do a couple things to your hair, first, see what looks best, and then we'll do what we can with these!” Hanta-san beams at Bokuto, grabbing a brush and some hairspray. “Oh, I'm so excited, usually I only get to do wigs, and you have such a fine head of hair. Where you still have some black in it, we could probably add extensions if needed to add a bit more volume to it. Are the two of you together?”

“Yes,” Keiji says, smiling, and Bokuto blushes. She's so terribly pretty when she does, and Keiji is so utterly helpless. “We have been since high school.”

“High school sweethearts,” Hanta-san says with a sigh, neatly pulling Bokuto's hair up to the back of her head and carefully looping it and pinning it in place. Her hands are easy and familiar, manipulating the hair without any hesitation. “Just like me and my husband, you know! He was such the charmer- he was in the judo club, and I was in ikebana, and he was always coming to me to see if I'd do arrangements for his mother as an excuse to talk to me. By the time we got married, I was practically a master! My daughter takes after him, but she's no slouch with her flowers either. She's much like you, dear, so very tall and broad. She's just coming into her own.”

“I'd like to learn ikebana,” Bokuto tells Hanta-san, watching in the mirror in fascination as her fingers smoothly work product into her hair to hold it in place and slipping in black oval-things to give it more shape. Keiji watches with interest. His own mother keeps her hair cut short and close to her head, he's never seen such things. It certainly does explain how such smooth shapes can be made. There are two more loops made, smoothed and clipped into place while product is applied to hold them. “Akaashi and I played volleyball together! I play for Chuo, he's going to Toudai but won't join the team because he's a sap and doesn't want to play against me.”

“I'm not so foolish as to think I could win,” Keiji says, smiling fondly, and Bokuto grins at him in the mirror.

Hanta-san's eyes go wide. “My goodness! Those are very good schools.”

“We've worked very hard,” Keiji says, reaching out to take Bokuto's hand. She runs one sturdy, callused thumb over his hand, and Keiji's heart swells a little. Her eyes are soft and happy, and Keiji loves her so very, very much. “Hanta-san, it... it means a great deal to us, that you're so welcoming.”

Hanta-san smiles at him, warm and kind, and Keiji has to look at the floor to blink away a few unruly tears. He thinks he's cried and been teary more in the past year than he has the rest of his life. However, it _has_ been a somewhat stressful time.

“Like I said, my Haruka-chan is coming into her own,” Hanta-san says, arranging Bokuto's hair so it gives the illusion of bangs. Bokuto can't seem to stop smiling, her eyes sparkling, and Keiji swallows around the lump in his throat. “She'll be so happy to know that others like her came to me.”

“Thank you,” Keiji says again, and Hanta-san smiles at him. She steps back, surveying her work. It's a simple enough updo, very traditional, with a curved top to give some height and a small bump in front and the back to give it depth. Hanta-san fetches some different types of kanzashi from the box, selecting a comb, bira-bira shaped like a fan, some beautiful and ornate metal flowers on long sticks, and then pulls out some wonderful and elegant fabric wisteria kanzashi, long and elegant. They hang from a golden lattice, leaves on top, and the blooms are intricate and beautiful.

“Not everybody can pull off long wisteria like these,” she says, “but I think you have the face for it! They're meant for the summer months, but coming of age day is for all sorts of fun things. Wisteria kanzashi included.” She places the comb first, placing it to the front to delineate the front and back sections of hair. The flowers go next, pinning down the back to help hold the top loop in place and the back loop up, and the bira-bira go to the right in the front together, jingling slightly. The wisteria she places last, sliding it carefully in so that it falls gracefully along Bokuto's face. Her eyes widen, and Hanta-san lets out a soft sigh of delight.

“Oh, will you look at that,” she says softly, and Bokuto's eyes well with tears.

She looks beautiful, the wisteria suiting her perfectly, and Keiji swallows back tears of his own. 

“It's perfect,” Bokuto whispers, and quickly wipes away a couple tears that are falling. Keiji clears his throat a few times, and Hanta-san smiles proudly. 

“Come to me again when it's time to get this done, and I'll make sure we get it just right once again,” she says, gently fussing with Bokuto's hair to straighten a few small pieces. “You look lovely, Koucchan.”

Hanta-san refuses payment, saying that it's a treat enough to get to do hair on a real person for once, thought she does let them pay for the comb, the bira-bira, and the metal flowers. She refuses payment for the wisteria kanzashi, insisting they're a gift, and gives them a large box to keep them in.

Bokuto wears the style all the way home, even on the train, and many small children run up to compliment her on how pretty her hair is. A few old women walk up to them with compliments as well, people do double-takes and look impressed, and by the time they get home Bokuto's practically glowing with how happy she is.

They walk into the apartment to find Kuroo and Kenma on the couch, and Kuroo stops mid sentence to look at Bokuto. Bokuto shifts nervously as Kenma pauses the game on a crash scene, and Kuroo stands up, striding over to them. His hands flutter around Bokuto's face, as if not daring to touch.

“ _Bo_ ,” he says helplessly, and promptly bursts into tears. 

Nobody's expected this reaction, but Keiji once again finds himself scrubbing away tears as Bokuto holds Kuroo tight, her arms sturdy as Kuroo mumbles proud nonsense against her neck. Once Kuroo has himself back under control, he scrubs his own face clean and says in a watery voice, “I'm just so _happy_ for you.”

Bokuto's smile is blinding.

oOo

“Akaashi, hey!”

Akaashi waves as he sees Konoha frantically waving at him, smiling a little. The crowds of people around the shrine are dressed in their finest. Keiji is in a very formal suit with gloves on for the weather, a forest green haori on to keep off the worst of the cold. The shrine looks magical, all done up for the day, and the colors of everyone's kimono are magnificent.

“Ready?” he asks. 

Bokuto looks over at him, obviously nervous. They're the tallest of those in furisode, the bira-bira kanzashi chiming in their hair as they practically shiver with nerves. This is the first time they've been out in such clothes, and their makeup is magnificent. Soft red is under their eyes in a very traditional look, their lips have been painted glossy red, and theres a faint, shimmering golden glitter around their eyes. They look majestic and beautiful, with the soft fur stole around their neck, tall and resplendent with their hair pulled back and the wisteria blossoms and bira-bira dangling down. The deep blue furisode is magnificent, the Nagoya obi tied perfectly, and Kenma had oh-so-gently painted their nails this morning in a shimmering gold to match the detailing. 

“I don't know if I can do this,” Bokuto says, and Keiji reaches out to gently stroke their cheek. He can't believe he actually grew a full inch taller than Bokuto over this past year, but right now it's a welcome inch. It's a heady feeling, Bokuto looking up at him through long, darkened lashes.

“You can,” Keiji promises. “These are our friends. They'll love you no matter what, they always have.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.”

Keiji takes their hand, and together they walk over to the group. The others look confused for a moment, Washio craning his head to look for Bokuto, and then it hits. The pair stop in front of the group, all of them wearing brilliant colors and designs of haori and hakama, and Bokuto shyly looks up before ducking their head back down. Konoha, Washio, Komi, and Sarukui stare with dropped jaws as Bokuto looks at the ground, and Keiji forces himself to keep breathing calmly. 

“Holy shit,” Washio says at last. “Ho. Ly. Shit. You look amazing.”

“So,” Komi says, obviously a little starstruck, “are... are you a girl?”

“Sometimes,” Bokuto says, their voice shaking. “Sometimes I'm both, or neither, or just a boy. It's- I don't really know how to explain it. But I'm not _just_ a boy. Surprise?”

Konoha carefully takes a couple steps forward, marveling. “Well you look badass, Bokuto. _Damn_ , I'm really regretting not asking you out in second year, you clean up nice.”

Bokuto's cheeks go bright pink. 

“So should we still use he?” Sarukui asks. “Or is it she when you're dressed up in furisode?” His cheeks are almost as pink as Bokuto's. “Wow, you're really, really pretty. Oh my god. Akaashi, how are you not dying over there?”

"Sheer force of will."

“Um, any of them are fine,” Bokuto says, clinging to Keiji's hand. “He is fine, you guys have known me the longest, b-but if you want to use she that's fine to, or they, I use they a lot too, but he is fine! It's all fine!” They gently bite their lip, and Keiji very nearly swoons. He'd been unprepared for Bokuto in furisode- they're absolutely magnificent.

Washio whistles softly. “Dibs on sitting next to her when we go to dinner.”

Keiji thinks he might cry from happiness as squabbling breaks out, Konoha ready to throw down a glove to fight for Bokuto's honor, and for the first time in months Bokuto actually _laughs_ , big and open and loud. 

They walk to the shrine, all of them tall and imposing (except for Komi, the shortest of them at 5'6), and they get a lot of looks when they ring the bell and pray. Keiji thanks every single god he can think of for their wonderful friends, Hanta-san, Shiya-san, and everybody else who's helped his beautiful, wonderful partner feel safe and comfortable enough to go out dressed in such finery. 

“Akaaaaashi! Look, look, they have omamori! Let's get some!”

Keiji lets himself be pulled away, hand in hand with Bokuto, and smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a really, really bad day with my own dysphoria and felt the need to write this. Akaashi and Kenma often get headcanonned as NB, which I can understand, but as someone who's not very androgynous I really wanted to write something with Bokuto as well. He's a character that's viewed as ultra-masculine in a lot of works, and I just really wanted to explore this idea. There's no wrong way to be non-binary, and no set look for any of us. 
> 
> This was written exclusively to "Heaven's Gate" by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> Comments give me life!
> 
> (edit: I did a rough sketch of Bokuto in the furisode, in case you were curious about what it looked like. https://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/171263045588/a-rough-sketch-of-furisodebokuto-from-go-out-in)


End file.
